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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28633299">On the Ice</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/missazrael/pseuds/missazrael'>missazrael</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Hockey, Ice Skating, JeanMarco Gift Exchange, JeanMarco Gift Exchange 2020</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 11:41:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,743</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28633299</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/missazrael/pseuds/missazrael</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Connie drags Jean to the ice rink to do some laps, where they meet another skater...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Marco Bott/Jean Kirstein</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>JeanMarco Gift Exchange 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>On the Ice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowd00dles/gifts">rainbowd00dles</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The wind whips across campus, moaning and howling its way between the buildings, and Jean pulls his scarf up over his nose.  Connie is a bundled up lump beside him, his hat pulled low and his scarf high so that only his eyes are visible, and Jean tugs the ear flaps on his own hat down and buckles them under his chin.  It's not his first time in the pre-dawn darkness, but he always forgets how cold and nasty it can be.</p>
<p>They don't waste time talking, knowing that the wind would steal their words away anyway, until they're huddled underneath the awning to the sports center.  The building looms huge and dark before them, its doors locked and crusted with ice.</p>
<p>Jean elbows Connie in the ribs, none too gently.  “You said he'd be here!”</p>
<p>“He will be!”  Connie throws an elbow right back, but Jean is certain he pulls his blow at the last moment, his elbow barely glancing off Jean's shoulder.  Once upon a time, Connie would have thrown all his weight behind that blow, trying to knock Jean off his feet, and the taste of nostalgia is bitter across Jean's tongue.  “He probably got held up in the snow!”</p>
<p>“We're going to freeze to death if he takes much longer.”  Jean thinks longingly of his dorm room bed, abandoned at this godawful hour for a tromp across campus in the snow.  He's pretty sure he could get back to it before hypothermia took over, but not if he takes the time to throttle Connie first, for having this boneheaded idea.</p>
<p>It's a dilemma, and Jean is mulling it over when Connie points one mittened hand into the swirling snow.  “See, there he is!”</p>
<p>Jean squints, and eventually makes out another heavily-bundled figure plowing his way towards them.  He's got his head down and his arms wrapped around himself, bulling through the snow, but when Connie waves at him, he lifts one arm and waves back.</p>
<p>“About time,” Jean grouses, but he says it softly, so the guy can't hear him.  Mom Kirschtein didn't raise any fools, and he's not about to start bitching at the guy with the keys to the building.</p>
<p>“Hey.”  The guy doesn't waste much time with pleasantries, instead moving past them to shove a key into the locked door.  “Sorry I'm a little late, the snow was deeper than I thought.”  He throws a shoulder against the door to shove it open, and they all pile into the lobby of the sports building.  It isn't necessarily warm and toasty in here, but they're out of the wind, and that does a lot to lift Jean's spirits.</p>
<p>“It's fine,” Connie tells the guy as he starts to peel off his layers.  “Thanks for letting us in this early.”</p>
<p>“Sure, it's no problem.”  The guy is unwinding his scarf from around his face, and Jean catches a glimpse of freckles before they're hidden by green scarf again.  Jean starts working on getting out of his own snow gear, starting with his heavy gloves.  As he tucks one hand into his armpit to pull the glove off, he gets a warning twinge from deep in his back.  Seriously?  Getting his <i>gloves</i> off is going to cause pain now?</p>
<p>“Just don't let Coach Shadis know, he'd have my ass,” the guy continues, and he's finally got his scarf off and reaches up to pull his hat away, and Jean catches his first glimpse of his face.</p>
<p>He's suddenly a lot less pissy than he was just a second ago.  The pain in his back forgotten, he takes a step forward and offers the guy his hand.  “We won't say a word.  Hey, I'm Jean.”</p>
<p>“Hi, Jean.”  The guy pulls his own glove off, and his grip is strong and warm in Jean's hand.  His eyes are huge and chocolate brown, sparkling in his freckle-spattered face, and when he smiles, Jean is pretty sure his knees go weak.  “I'm Marco.”</p>
<p>“Jean didn't think you were coming,” Connie the cockblock Springer announces smugly, and Jean has to resist the urge to rip his head off.  But Marco just laughs and shakes his head.</p>
<p>“If I didn't have you guys waiting for me, I probably would have skipped today too.”  He moves to relock the door, looking out at the swirling snow.  “It's not a day for man or beast out there.”</p>
<p>“Good thing we're beasts, right, Jean?”  Connie elbows him again, and Jean realizes he's been staring stupidly at Marco, quite possibly with his mouth slightly open, and for once he's glad for Connie's elbow-flinging ways.</p>
<p>“Uh, yeah.  Yeah, we're beasts.”  Jean catches Connie's elbow by reflex, and starts dragging him towards the locker rooms.</p>
<p>“See you on the ice!” Marco calls after them, and even his voice is hot.</p>
<p>Connie hustles through the darkened gym alongside Jean, and he's shaking with barely controlled laughter, the bastard.  When they get to the locker room, Connie hits the light switch before he doubles over laughing.</p>
<p>“Goddamn, Jean, the look on your face!”</p>
<p>“You didn't tell me he was that hot!”  Jean is fuming, but it's mostly for show.  He slams his gear back down, but even that isn't very impressive, with it being much lighter than usual.  His skates alone don't make for proper slamming material.</p>
<p>“In all fairness, I never checked him out for hotness.”  Connie straightens up and starts stripping out of his layers, changing his sweater and gloves for his pads and a ratty old jersey.  “I don't notice that on other dudes.”</p>
<p>It's a fair point, but Jean is still moody about being taken by surprise.  Or maybe it's the anticipation bubbling in his stomach, brewing alongside acidic, caustic fear.  This will be the first time he's been on the ice in eight weeks, and when he leans over the bench to lace his skates, his hands are trembling.</p>
<p>“Now, if it's a pretty lady you're looking for, <i>those</i> I notice, and...”  Connie's endless, semi-mindless patter is comforting, in an odd way, and while Jean tunes out the message, he focuses on the sound as he stands up.  His ankles wobble a little, along with his calves, weakened by being unable to skate, but the major muscles of his thighs react automatically, supporting him.  He's definitely lost some strength, and he doesn't even want to know what's happened to his speed, but at least he's not falling over.</p>
<p>Connie keeps blithely talking, and Jean follows him to the rink.</p>
<p>Jean has never seen the rink like this, the stands empty and looming above them, the lights low and casting shadows everywhere.  Even Connie speaks in a hushed tone as they take off their skate guards and set them aside.  “Marco says he's allowed to use it in the morning like this, but he's not supposed to turn the lights all the way up, or the heat on.  The school says it's too expensive.”</p>
<p>“That tracks.”  Jean shivers, and his breath comes out in a plume, his words echoing through the space and coming back to him.  The rink is never warm, but he's so used to wearing all his gear and then charging around on the ice that he had forgotten how cold it can actually get.</p>
<p>Connie steps onto the ice, his body weight automatically shifting and adjusting, and then turns, waiting expectantly for Jean.</p>
<p>Jean takes another deep breath, swallows down his yammering anxiety, and steps onto the ice.</p>
<p>It's exactly the same; it's completely different.  Jean's ankles wobble again, and he keeps his grip on the sideboards, the wood splintery under his palm.  His body knows how to do this, has known how to do this for as long as he's known how to walk, but the muscles in his lower back suddenly seize up on him, locking tight and rebelling against balance, and Jean teeters back and forth, his heart in his throat.</p>
<p>Connie is watching all of this, and for such a loud, ridiculous guy, he's being respectfully solemn and serious, and Jean is glad he asked him to come out for this trip, and not any of the other guys on the team.  “Want me to go get you a stick?”</p>
<p>“No thanks.”  Using a hockey stick as a crutch and leaning all over the ice won't help anything, and Jean tentatively scuffs one foot back and forth.  He still has his footing, his body still knows how to do that, and he pushes off with his other foot, coming around in a slow, gentle arc.  He keeps hold of the sideboards, though, lingering on the edges of the ice.</p>
<p>He can do this.  He can skate again, but not with Connie hanging around like a hopeful puppy.  Jean waves him off, and Connie, bless him, starts taking a relaxed, lazy lap around the ice, leaving Jean to himself.  He watches Connie skate away, the easy, natural roll of his legs, the rhythm of his arms and his perfect balance, and Jean wonders if Connie appreciates just what a miracle his healthy, uninjured body really is.</p>
<p>Jean follows him, his hand still on the sideboards, concentrating on the motion of his own legs.  His legs are fine, the muscles eager and ready to get back into action.  His legs are ready to zoom again, to push him all around the rink at the kind of speeds that leave the opposing team dizzy, the speed that got the attention of an NHL recruiter, the speed he's been working on for years, the speed that goalies never saw coming.</p>
<p>There's no speed now, no grace.  The memory of it is there, trembling in his muscle fibers, waiting to be unleashed, but every time Jean tries to let go of the sideboards, bile rises in his throat and his back muscles lock up all over again. </p>
<p>He'd gotten too confident, too convinced that no one could ever match his speed.  When he got hit, Jean never saw the other player coming; he hadn't even realized he'd been being chased until he was suddenly up against the boards, the world tilting crazily around him, and then on the ice, his entire midsection a burning iron band.</p>
<p>It had been a big hit, but a clean one, a legal one.  Jean just hadn't known it was coming, and hadn't been caught in so long that he forgot how to take a hit.</p>
<p>The doctors had said that another two millimetres to either side and Jean would be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life.</p>
<p>Jean pushes that thought away, drawing his attention back down to his feet, to the quiet hiss of his blades cutting across the ice, and continues his slow circuit.</p>
<p>It hardly takes any time at all for him to get tired, and Jean is embarrassed at how poor his stamina has become.  Connie is still taking laps, and when Jean leaves the ice, he follows.  “How was it?”</p>
<p>“Okay.”  It hadn't been okay, it had <i>sucked</i>, he was dragging himself around like a toddler in the peewee leagues, but none of that was Connie's fault, and Jean swallows down any nastiness he might have directed at him.  “Thanks for coming out here with me.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, no problem.”  Connie points back out to the ice.  “You should thank him, he's the one who let us in.”</p>
<p>Jean looks out on the ice, having completely forgotten about Marco, and what he sees makes his breath catch in his throat.</p>
<p>Marco is skating by himself, a pair of earbuds plugged firmly in and the only bright spot on the shadowy ice, dancing to music only he can hear.  Jean has seen figure skaters before, has even tried it himself on occasion, but he's never seen someone move the way Marco does.  He makes it look effortless, like he's floating above the ice, as he dodges in and out between the shadows, moving in graceful arcs and parabolas that are almost like flying.  Then he leaps into the air, drawing his arms tight around himself and spinning before landing on one leg and swooping his other one out behind him, and Jean feels his heart skip a beat.</p>
<p>Connie reaches over and smacks Jean's chin, reminding him to close his mouth.</p>
<p>The jump Marco just landed turned him around to face them, and he realizes they're watching.  His arms drop down to his sides and he skates over, the dance finished for now, and Jean wishes he could keep watching him.</p>
<p>“Are you two heading out?”  Marco pulls an earbud out and cups it in his palm, and Jean can hear soaring classical music pouring out of it.</p>
<p>“Yeah, we're done.  Thanks for letting us come in today.”  Connie offers his hand to shake, and Marco smiles as he does.  “Think we can show up again sometime?”</p>
<p>“Sure, whenever you want.  I'm here most mornings.”  Marco turns towards Jean, one eyebrow lifted.  “Did it help?  Getting back on the ice?”</p>
<p>Jean's cheeks burn, but of course Connie must have told Marco about why they're here.  It's not <i>shameful</i>, getting hurt on the ice, and is the only possible explanation for why he just spent the last forty minutes limping around the rink like a grandpa.  If he was a beginner, he could just come to free skate, when the rink is actually open.</p>
<p>“Yeah.  Yeah, it did.”  Jean pauses, and then all attempts to play it cool fly straight out the window as he points to Marco's earbud.  “That's Jupiter.”</p>
<p>Connie looks at Jean like he's just started speaking gibberish, but Marco's eyebrows raise and then he breaks into a huge, winning smile.  “That's right!  The figure skating team is trying to coordinate their freestyles this year, and I got Jupiter.”  He lowers his voice a little, learning in conspiratorially.  “I had to fight for it.  Coach Smith thought I'd be better with Mars.”</p>
<p>“No.”  Jean shakes his head.  “Jupiter was definitely the right choice.”</p>
<p>Marco beams, and Connie rolls his eyes.  “Come on, you nerds, I have an eight AM lab and want some breakfast before then.  You can talk music or whatever later.”</p>
<p>“Sure.”  Marco pops his earbud back in and starts skating away, although he does it backwards, so he can keep smiling at Jean.  “See you another time?”</p>
<p>Jean nods, lingering even as Connie starts dragging him towards the locker room.  “Later.”</p>
<p>He waits until they're safely out of earshot before grabbing Connie's arm and swinging him around.  Connie blinks, shocked, and Jean is pleased that he's still got the upper body strength to do this.  It won't occur to him until later that he did it without his back hurting at all.  “Is he single?”</p>
<p>“I don't know!”  Connie swats Jean's hands away, ducking underneath his arm when Jean tries to get him in a headlock.  “I never asked!  Go stalk him on Twitter and find out!”</p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p>As it turns out, Marco doesn't have a Twitter.  Or a Facebook, or an Instagram.  He's a digital ghost, and Jean has to resort to stalking him on the university's figure skating webpage.  He's a graduate student, two years older than Jean, studying psychology, and has won several figure skating awards.  There are a couple of videos of him performing, and Jean watches them endlessly, lost in the beauty of it.  Like most hockey players, he's always looked down on figure skaters, but Marco is something different.  Marco makes it look so easy, so ethereal, that Jean can appreciate the sport for the first time.</p>
<p>Connie rags him mercilessly after catching Jean watching Marco's videos, but there's a more cheerful, happy edge to it than usual.  Connie is never <i>mean</i> or cruel, his joking around all in good fun, but he's obviously pleased to see Jean taking an interest in skating again.  It makes Jean realize how worried about him Connie and the rest of the team must have been, and likely still are, and while that should make him want to try harder, it just makes everything more difficult.</p>
<p>He's not doing well on the rink.</p>
<p>Connie keeps dragging him out, two or three times a week, and Jean knows he <i>should</i> be improving, that skating should be feeling natural again.  It isn't; every time his skates hit the ice, Jean's guts freeze up again, the anxiety starts yammering in the back of his mind, and the best he can do is drag himself around it while clutching the sideboards.  He's been getting stronger and is able to take more laps now, but that's a cold comfort.  He doesn't want to schlep any longer, he wants to fly the way he used to.</p>
<p>If Marco wasn't always at the rink too, Jean might have given up on it by now.</p>
<p>But Marco is always there, always lets them in, and that keeps Jean dragging himself out of bed at ungodly hours and crossing the frigid campus to go stubbornly pull himself around on the ice. </p>
<p>One morning, Connie has pulled an all-nighter and needs to grab a couple of hours of sleep before a test, so Jean goes on his own.  Marco is a little surprised to see that it's just him, but doesn't question it, letting him in and then leaving Jean to his own devices.</p>
<p>Jean only takes a couple of laps before settling in on the benches to watch Marco.  He'd never realized skating could be so pretty and powerful at the same time, but Marco is making him a believer.</p>
<p>He's watched Marco's videos online enough times by now to recognize some of his signature moves, and Jean leans in over his knees when he sees Marco start to skate backwards and pick up speed.  That means it's time for a jump, and Jean holds his breath as Marco looks over his shoulder, judging how much room he has to move.  Marco's eyes narrow, and then he kicks off, rising into the air like a dancer, his arms coming in as he spins, weightless, suspended in the air.  Then he lands, swooping one leg out behind him, his arms going wide, and he's earthbound again but still more beautiful and graceful than Jean could ever hope to be, and Jean lets himself breathe again.</p>
<p>Marco straightens up, then turns towards Jean and bows, and Jean flushes as he realizes Marco knew he had a spectator.  It's even more obvious when Marco pulls his earbuds out and starts skating over to him, a big, friendly grin spread across his face.</p>
<p>“Hey!” Marco chirps brightly, gliding to a stop at the sideboards and leaning over them, and Jean can't help noticing how ripped his arms are.  Muscular legs are a given with skaters, but arms like that mean Marco must work his upper body too, and Jean suddenly wonders if the freckles go all the way down his chest.  “What'd you think?”</p>
<p>Jean swallows, dragging his eyes up from Marco's biceps.  “That was amazing.”</p>
<p>Marco chuckles, clearly pleased with the compliment.  “Thanks.  It could've been a tighter spin, but I'm working on it.”  He gestures at Jean's feet, still encased in his hockey skates.  “How about you?  Is it getting easier?”</p>
<p>Jean's every instinct screams to him to lie, to bluff his way through this and assure Marco that he's fine.  He's so convinced he's going to do exactly that that when his mouth opens, what spills out shocks him.  “No.  It doesn't feel like it'll ever get easier.”</p>
<p>Marco nods, his brows drawing down, and Jean can't believe he just said that.  He sputters, trying to come up with something that'll make it all seem like a joke, but before he can, Marco speaks up.  “Connie told me about what happened.  The accident was on this rink, wasn't it?”</p>
<p><i>Marco asked Connie about him</i>.  Something warm flares in Jean's chest, and he nods.  “Yeah.  It happened right over there.”  He points at the boards across the ice; they've still scratched and scuffed from where he collided with them.</p>
<p>“Have you tried skating somewhere else?”  Marco sees Jean's confused expression and clarifies.  “On a different rink.  Or somewhere you didn't get hurt.”</p>
<p>“Oh.”  Jean shakes his head.  “No.  I'm not from around here, so I don't know any other rinks.”</p>
<p>Marco smiles, his face lighting up again.  “Are you doing anything tonight?”</p>
<p>This is all happening really fast, and Jean is feeling light-headed and almost dazed.  “No?”</p>
<p>“Good.”  Marco fishes in the pocket of his pants and pulls out his phone to start tapping at the screen.  “Give me your number and a place I can pick you up at... say, seven?”</p>
<p>Jean rattles off his number, and manages to smile back.  “Seven would be great.”</p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p>Marco drives an enormous, beat-up pickup truck that smells like sweet hay, and somehow that's perfectly reasonable and what Jean expected, even if his view of figure skaters generally trends more towards them driving sleek little Priuses or Volkswagen bugs.  He clamours up into the cab beside Marco, and his back doesn't hurt at all as he heaves himself into the seat.  “So where are we going?”</p>
<p>Marco grins at him, and Jean notices he's wearing a matching scarf and hat, huge and fluffy and clearly hand-knit.  “You'll see when we get there.  It's a good thing you dressed warm, though.”</p>
<p>They drive out into the countryside, and when Marco eventually pulls off the road and parks the truck, Jean is shocked to see that they'd been driving for forty-five minutes.  It had felt like five, with how easily the conversation had flowed.  He can talk to Marco like they've known each other forever.  “Are we here?”</p>
<p>“Yep.”  Marco tugs his hat down lower over his ears and hops out of the truck.  “Come on, you'll really like it.”</p>
<p>Jean gets out and follows him towards a big shed, shrouded in snow but festooned with fairy lights, and with cheery music echoing from it.  </p>
<p>“Oh!”  They go inside, and Jean instantly knows where they are.  It's a winter sports park, but a small one, the kind Jean thought didn't exist anymore, little and friendly and family-run.  There's a concession stand that smells of chocolate and hot cider, a little skate rental, and some beat-up chairs and couches strategically placed.  It's nothing like the elegant country club parks Jean used to go to as a child, but he already loves it.  “Are we going sledding?”</p>
<p>Marco laughs out loud, and claps Jean on the shoulder.  “We can!  I thought you might want to skate a little first?”  He hurries on, gently leading Jean towards the skate rental.  “It's not a rink.  It's a big flat area they pour water on, so it's almost like a pond, but without the water underneath.  You keep watching me do my forms, so I thought I'd teach you some moves?”</p>
<p>Jean's breath gets tight in his throat as they approach the stand, his heartbeat picking up, and not just because Marco has his hand on the small of Jean's back.  “I... I don't know...”</p>
<p>“We don't have to.”  Marco stops immediately, ignoring how they're in the middle of the shed, blocking traffic in all directions.  “Only if you want to.”</p>
<p>Jean looks over at all the skates on display.  They're mostly figure skates, and he realizes that he hasn't had a pair of figure skates on in years.  Once he'd found his groove with hockey, he'd been fully committed to it, and had never considered its cousin sport.  As far as he knows, there isn't any checking in figure skating, and certainly not in a quiet little family park like this one.  Small children are streaming all around them, and Jean is pretty sure that a collision with one of them wouldn't knock him off his feet.</p>
<p>He lets out his breath in a long sigh and turns to Marco.  “Okay.  Yeah.  Let's try it.”</p>
<p>Once they've got their rental skates and are all laced up, they totter out towards the ice, arm in arm.  Figure skates don't have the same ankle support hockey skates do, and Jean has to focus on his balance to stay upright.  Marco walks as calmly and confidently on skate blades as he does on regular shoes, but he slows his pace for Jean, his arm warm and powerful, supportive, under Jean's hand.</p>
<p>The sheet of ice is lit by enormous stadium lights, and families swirl all over it.  Little kids in brightly colored jackets wobble past, clutching their parent's hands, and teenagers in high school letterman jackets move on the edges of the ice, leaning against hay bales that mark the boundaries and gossiping amongst themselves.  It's chaotic, and noisy, and completely non-threatening, with none of the tension of the rink at the university, and Jean only hesitates a moment before stepping out onto the ice.</p>
<p>And almost immediately falls.</p>
<p>“Whoah!”  Marco is right there, catching Jean before he can do much more than wobble, and he laughs quietly as Jean gets his ankles steady underneath him.  “They're a little different than hockey skates, aren't they?”</p>
<p>“A lot different.”  Jean looks down at his feet, frowning at the narrow black skates.  “How the hell do you <i>jump</i> in these things?”</p>
<p>“Let's work on just moving forward before we start worrying about jumping, huh?”  Marco's voice is as warm as the July sun, and he shifts himself around so he's facing Jean, taking both of Jean's hands in his.  “Come on, I won't let you fall.”</p>
<p>Marco starts skating backwards, his hips gliding side to side to keep him upright, and Jean has no other option but to follow him.</p>
<p>It turns out that the little sharp edges on the front of figure skates are really great for pushing yourself forward, and once Jean adjusts to having them there, skating gets a lot easier.  It definitely helps that he doesn't have to pay attention to where he's going, or what's going on around him; he just focuses in on Marco: on his warm brown eyes, crinkling at the edges; on his smile, so much brighter than the stadium lights around them; on his hands, wrapped around Jean's and guiding him around the ice.  When he can focus on that, Jean isn't scared any longer, and his legs start to find their rhythm again.</p>
<p>His stamina is still shit, though, and when Marco notices he's getting winded, he steers them towards one of the hay bales set on the edges of the ice.  Jean sinks onto it gratefully, and Marco settles beside him, his arm pressing against Jean's, and they watch the other skaters for awhile.</p>
<p>“Well?”  Marco's voice is soft, respectful.  “How does it feel?”</p>
<p>Jean takes a deep breath, and when he lets it out, it comes out as laughter, crystallising in the air around them like a puff of smoke.  “It feels great.”</p>
<p>And it does.  His legs are aching, but it's a familiar ache, the feeling of muscles worked and stretched, a feeling he likes.  His back is tired too, but it's not painful; there's been no pain all night.  But more than that, the fear is starting to bleed away.  “Turns out you were right.  I just needed to try a different rink.”</p>
<p>Marco grins, and nudges his shoulder into Jean's.  “I thought so.  I thought you just needed a confidence boost.”</p>
<p>“Maybe.”  Jean nudges him back, and when Marco is solid underneath him, he starts leaning against him.  “I'm still going to hold your hands when we get back out there.”</p>
<p>“That's fine.”  Marco looks down at their hands, resting between their knees, and then reaches out to take one of Jean's.  When Jean looks over at him, Marco is flushing pink.  “I was, ah... I was kind of hoping I wouldn't need that excuse?  To hold your hand, I mean.”</p>
<p>The warm thing in Jean's chest heats up to a blaze, and he smiles as he lets his head rest on Marco's shoulder.  “No.  You don't need an excuse.”</p>
<p>“Okay.”  With his free hand—Jean has no intention of giving him his other one back—Marco undoes one loop of his scarf and wraps it around Jean before letting his cheek fall to rest on Jean's hair.  “Can I buy you dinner after this?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”  Jean closes his eyes and breathes in through his nose, letting the scent of Marco's scarf flood his sinuses.  “I'd really like that.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I hope you like it, rainbowd00dles!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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